Insane
by Illumenara
Summary: WinterWidow One-Shot #2. Mid-CA:TWS. Natasha finds a shadowy intruder in her apartment. They both give in to their wildest taboo desires despite her not realizing that he has just committed a terrible act . Extreme M Warning!


**Insane**

 **Disclaimer 1** **:** **I don't own anything from MCU (although I'd love to *smirk*)**

 **Disclaimer 2 : This earns the M-rating. Read at your own risk. Heavy sexual content.**

 **~xXx~**

April 2013

"You can't just walk in here like you own the place," she said coolly. The shadow on the edge of her bed moved, tilting his head in her direction. Through the dark, she could see his brilliant blue eyes highlighted. They are focused on her, fully and dangerously.

The small gun in her hand felt inadequate, but she knows, and he knows, that she could shoot him with a deadly accuracy. He would know better than most. It was his voice she heard in her head whenever she took aim, telling her to read the target, to feel the target. It had been more than twenty years since they had last seen each other on that cold winter night. From what she could see in the low light, he hadn't changed since then. Neither of them had changed much in the passing time, maybe an extra line around the eyes, but still the same. The scar on her hip tingled once more. It had never faded and served as a reminder to her to watch her back at all times, to be aware of her surroundings, to play every moment to her advantage.

In this moment she was unsure of how to play the game. Her Soldat had always managed to add that extra edge. She was smaller, faster...He was bigger, stronger-and yes-he was better than her. He was an extreme form of danger to all around him, to those closest to him. She had seen him restricted from movement by a few words, and then in the same breath redirected to inflict the worst damage she had seen done to a human body. The sound of bones crunching filled her mind for a split second, but her face remained unchanged.

Natasha was not new to the world of violence. She was not new to a world in which the Soldat existed. She was also not new to seeing the look in his eyes right now, although it had been decades since she had seen something quite like this. She had been taught to read people from a young age, and despite his coldness, the Soldat was no exception. She knew him, more deeply than any other in his life. There was a wild hunger and a delicate pain.

She clicked the safety back on her pistol and slid it to the hip holster. He blinked, still locked onto her position. Though his gaze did not waver, she knew that he could see everything. His sniper gaze, that thousand-yard stare...it saw everything, processed everything. She moved her arm and clicked on a dim light, flooding the room with a hazy yellow glow.

The Soldat was dressed in his full tactical gear, from his shoulder holsters to the grenades on his belt to the knife sheaths on the outer and inner sides of his military-grade boots. But what made her catch her breath was something that she had not ever seen him wear before. A mask covered his face, obscuring his nose, cheeks, mouth, and jaw from view, leaving only his eyes and forehead exposed. Tonight his face was smudged with camouflage paint, a striking contrast with the ice blue of his eyes.

The light gleamed on his metal arm, the red star still brilliantly clear on his shoulder. She hated that star. She hated everything it stood for, including the Soldat. Yet she was drawn to him in a way that she wished was not possible. She might know a deeper, more intimate version of him, but she also knew the dark side of him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, her voice cold and accusing. He still said nothing to her. Natasha felt a heat inside of her chest as she remembered their violent, near-wordless encounter in this very apartment twenty years earlier. It was not a proud memory, for she had learned the following morning of the death of a dear friend and an important person in helping her to earn the trust of the U.S. government. The time of the accident had been marked as only an hour or so after the Soldat had left her apartment.

Howard Stark and his wife had been in a car accident, and both had died. She had no proof that it could be anything other than what the report said, yet there were some discrepancies that she noticed upon reading the file days later that confirmed her suspicions. His presence in D.C. that night alone was enough for her to know that there must be a connection, but nobody knew about the Winter Soldier beyond a few whispered ghost stories in the intelligence community. Stark was not a high-profile target, and there had never been a single mention of murder, but Natasha just knew. And she could not prove it. Today, there might have been DNA and nanotechnology to use in order to prove his existence, but not then, not in the early 90s.

"I remember this place," he said quietly, his brow furrowing. Natasha froze at the sound of his voice. The sound of it had not changed in all the years she had know him. It was still rich, like butter melting over a warm pastry, and it sent quick jolts of...something...through her arms. She knew that he would be no danger to her in that moment. He rarely spoke of anything except the present. She slowly knelt before him, just in front of his spread legs, and reached up to remove the mask from his face. A faint pink line ran across the bridge of his nose from the pressure of the mask.

His eyes remained locked on her, his wild hair framing his face. "I remember you," the Soldat said. Natasha placed the mask on the ground next to his foot. She lightly rested her palms on his thighs, just above his knees. A slow breath left her lips as she looked back at him, deeply, focused, willing him to speak again. Instead, his arm flashed out and her chin was taken captive by a strong metallic grip. She did not wince, she did not make a noise. He held her tightly, but there was no pain. His eyes moved down the contours of her face and rested on her full lips; his grip loosened and she felt the cool metal slide until she could feel his fingers wrap lightly around her neck.

Natasha licked her lips. The Soldat reacted, a low and guttural sound escaping him as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She tried to pull away, but he moved his other arm down and around her back, pulling her closer to him, holding her to him as he sat up straighter, pulling her up from her crouched position on the floor. Her hips were dragged between his legs, against his own body. As his silver fingers slid from her neck and tangled into her hair, she felt herself kissing him back, her own hands clutching at his sides, running over the hard muscle of his hips and lower back. She could feel him harden against her lower abdomen. Heat pooled inside her body. If she had thought, for even a fleeting moment, that she could ever react to him in any other way then she was a fool.

He had remembered her. He had remembered her apartment. Something was off about him. She knew that it was rare for him to be anything but focused, and she knew that in the past she had been the reason for some, if not all, distractions he had experienced.

Natasha knew what he had done. He knew that she knew. The Soldat was well aware of her intelligence, of her ability to piece together information. She could only wonder if Hydra had learned of their encounter so many years ago and kept them apart because of the very nature of the relationship and history between Natasha and the Soldat.

In this moment, though, he was here, gripping her to him. She knew that she would never fear him, no matter what state he might be in. But she could very easily be angry with him. Off or not, he had killed the Starks, the parents of her partner, her ally. Never having known her family, she could not know what it was like to have them torn away in a brutal accident that she knew to be the farthest thing from an accident, but she knew that Tony covered his anguish with humor, that his brash exterior was a cover for a deeply rooted pain.

As the Soldat's lips moved lower, sucking and biting along her neck and then her collarbone, Natasha's head rolled back, but her anger swelled with thoughts of the Soldat's mission so many years ago. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulled his head back, and slapped him. Hard. Across the face. She felt the grease of his face paint on the tips of her fingers from where she had impacted with his skin.

The Soldat's face had whipped away, and he paused for a moment, breathing heavily. She could hear the metallic whir of his arm as he clenched his fist. He was fighting the instant reaction. A deep breath. He turned to look at her from the corner of his eye, lifting his head slowly back toward her. She slapped him again, this time on the other cheek. He barely blinked.

When she raised a hand for a third time, his arm whipped out and grabbed her by the wrist, swiftly twisting her arm until it was secured behind her. She made to hit him in the neck with one of her Bites, but he quickly shifted, bringing his arm under and over hers until she was trapped in his embrace, their bodies pushed close together. She lifted her legs and shoved a knee on either side of his hips, pushing both of their weights back from the edge of the mattress. She was strong, but he had expected the move. He slammed her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. His weight pressed down on her, and she swung her leg up, dexterously wrapping an ankle over his face and pulling back. His grip on her loosened slightly, though he still held her tightly to him. She was able to wriggle her wrist free from his grasp and she forcefully shoved the base of her palm upward to his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose.

His vision swam momentarily, giving Natasha the chance to shove him off her. She twisted her body, reaching for the holster on her thigh, but the Soldat recovered quickly and grabbed her hands, pulling both behind her body and pressing her, face first, into the carpet beneath them. He laid his own body along the length of hers, pushing into her backside. He lowered his lips to her ear, making her body hum with excitement.

"You are insane." His breath tickled her earlobe, gently moving the fine hairs along her hairline and sending a shiver along her spine. One warm hand reached around to grasp her by the neck. He did not squeeze, only placed a delicate pressure on her windpipe. She knew that he was reminding her of not only her own fragility, but of nights long ago when they would spar, flesh on flesh, in the poorly lit dormitory rooms during her training.

She pressed her backside against him, feeling him grow harder against her, and a soft moan trickled over his full lower lip. He quickly flipped her over, taking each of her wrists in his hands and pinning them above her head. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pressed into her, grinding against her heated core as she breathed heavily, lifting her chest to meet his.

The Soldat's lips came crashing down onto hers as they rose together and let the passion take over their minds, ignoring all programming and training, forgetting protocol and rules. He lifted his weight from her and leaned back into his ankles, releasing his hold on her wrists as he moved to lift the hem of her shirt from her waistline, up to reveal her full breasts encased in a sheer bra. The shirt was discarded and his mouth fell to her body, her nipple sucked into the heat of his mouth through the fabric. The sensation nearly gave her pause, but she purred at the warm assault and went to work on the many buckles and buttons of his uniform.

She made quick work of the vest while he lavished attention on her breasts, only moving slowly when she reached the utility belt holding the grenades. He lifted his mouth from her only so that she could push the vest from his shoulders. Under the one-armed vest there was a black tank, flush against his solid form. She ran her hands over his pectoral muscles, then lay them flat against his firm stomach and pushed him back lightly. He leaned back, reaching his arms up and crossing his fingers behind his own head.

Natasha sat up, loosening her legs from him and moving to a crouching position in front of him. She dropped her mouth to his chest, kissing and nipping him through the thin fabric as she reached for and undid the clasp of his pants. Her hand enclosed his length, gripping him firmly and eliciting a low groan in the back of his throat as he watched her run her tongue along the velvety skin of his member.

A wicked glint in her eye that he vaguely recalled from before gave him warning of her next move. He moved one hand to the back of her head at the same time she took him fully into her mouth, pressing himself further in until she gagged around him. He all but rolled his eyes into the back of his head as she regained her composure and swallowed around him, the warm, wet tissue of her throat constricting him. He took a handful of her hair and began moving her up and down his shaft, her tongue stroking him and her teeth gently scraping where his girth was too wide for her mouth. He looked down at her, seeing her watching his reactions to her from under thick lashes. He felt the pressure building within and they both increased her speed, his hand tugging at the fistful of hair and her tongue taking quick, jutting sweeps as her lips slid over him.

His brow furrowed and he let out a roar of pleasure as stars exploded behind his eyelids and he spilled into her mouth. His hand loosed from her hair, and he felt her continue her ministrations, sucking on him until every last drop had been swallowed.

Natasha glanced up at him, smug with the pleasure that she knew she had provided him. His eyes were closed, head slightly back, breathing was deep and heavy. It was the most relaxed, and unaware, that she had seen him in decades. One side of her lips pulled up in a smirk as she wiped the other with the back of her hand. She took him in her hand again, not in the least bit surprised that he was still hard. She knew all about the stamina of the Winter Soldier. A quick, harsh tug had his eyes flying open and locking with her own, only inches from his face now.

Her other hand shot up to his neck, the outside of her wrist jutting into his jugular. He could feel the cool, pointed metal of her bracelet, ready to shock him with the electric voltage of her Widow Bite. He only smiled devilishly at her, welcoming her challenge. "Ready to comply," he uttered lowly.

"Quit smiling and get to work," she whispered, pushing the bite deeper against his skin. He reached down between her legs and slid his warm hand past the thin fabric of her underwear, rubbing the pad of his middle finger firmly against her clit. His metal arm snaked around, fingers searching along the small of her back for a path below. Warm flesh moved further down, his palm taking up the pressure against her sensitive core and his fingers sliding between her folds, playing at her entrance. She gasped at the contrast of his cold hand against her ass and his warm fingers playing her, yet she did not remove her threats from his neck. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, keeping his blue eyes locked on hers, as he moved both hands further, pressing one and then two of his fingers into her heat, sliding through her wetness, and one of his metal fingers played at the tight pucker just an inch away. Natasha sucked in a breath, forcing herself to not lean into his touch, both wanting and not wanting to increase the pressure in both spots. She locked her gaze on his lips, watching as the wetted flesh slipped out from between his teeth and a heart-racing smile spread across his face as he leaned in to place his mouth on hers.

As their lips tangled, he began to move his fingers in and out of her wetness, the warmth of his flesh increasing her own heat. His metal fingers warmed against her tight flesh, she could feel him increasing the pressure against her, building a wave of heat and anticipation in the lower pit of her abdomen. She breathed into his kiss and arched her lower back, pushing against him. She bit into his lip as she felt him dip into her, her body automatically clenching and pushing against his entrance to her most forbidden area of pleasure. He stopped his movement, allowing her to adjust to his intrusion, and only when she shuddered in his grasp did he begin to move his hands, probing her further.

She moaned into him, loosening her fist and tangling her fingers into his hair as he lifted her and replaced his fingers with another probing piece of flesh, embracing his full length into her by clenching her walls tight around him and latching her legs around his hips as he moved to stand from his crouched position on the floor. She was pushed into the wall and he held her up, a warm arm supporting around her lower back and a metal hand hooking into her ass, as he thrust violently into her, pushing all breath and coherent thought from her body and mind.

She gripped at his arm, digging her fingernails into him as he pounded, filling her deeply. The multiple sensations she felt from his body pushed her to the edge, her mind and body racing toward the edge with fervor until she threw herself into it, falling and flying, explosions of ecstasy rippling through her as the waves of pleasure wrapped her around him over and over again. He bit into her shoulder as she clenched around him. He had not lost himself in her yet, and she knew what he would want.

As the intensity began to subside, so did his powerful thrusts. He lowered her until her feet touched the ground, still keeping her back pressed to the wall. He slipped his finger out of her, and he cocked his head to the side as he looked down to her face. She stubbornly jutted her chin out and placed her wrist to his neck again, but before she could tighten her fist to shock him, he had grabbed her wrist and flipped her around. Her cheek and breasts were pushed into the wall and her pinned her hands to the wall, palms splayed against the retro wood-paneling, as he used his feet to spread her legs apart. She struggled against him uselessly. She and he both knew that she enjoyed it, but she also knew that he loved the game. He always had.

He rubbed his dick along her wet folds, spreading her juices away from her core to moisten the tight entrance of her ass. She suppressed a low moan, but he could feel the shivers that ran over her skin as he rubbed against her. He pushed against her, slowly, the tip of him searching for that sweet spot of giving. He reached around and placed a hand flush against her stomach, and leaned in to take a nibble of her earlobe. "Say it," he groaned. She inhaled as she felt him push harder. "No," she grinned.

She felt rather than saw his lips curl into another smile. Suddenly a cry of pleasurable pain flew from her lips as he bit into her shoulder and pushed into her at the same time. His teeth digging into her shoulder alleviated the immediate pain as she stretched around his girth, the feeling akin to a boot being pressed into her tailbone and burning as he pushed against the rings of muscle.

"Slower," he whispered in her ear. She did not realize that she had been panting, and slowed her breaths to allow her body to give way to him. As she relaxed around him he began to move, pushing into her until their bodies connected at the base of his penis. He had fully engulfed himself deeply inside of her ass, and she could feel her back arch, begging him to push deeper. He had no desire except to comply, but he pulled back, unsheathing himself except for the tip, and then harshly plowed into her, shoving his member so deeply in her that she grunted into the wall, her eyes closing from the sensation.

As he moved, impaling her against the wall, she felt his hand move lower until he was able to play with her clit, rubbing vigorously as he increased his speed. Natasha moaned, moving her hips in time with his thrusts. She could feel him throbbing within her, the pulses increasing with speed for every thrust. She was tight around him, she could feel him giving into the explicit pleasure of being deeply embedded in her ass. She, too, was building toward a release so intense that her legs were quivering, the only thing holding her up being his fast and hard fucking. She felt drops of liquid slide down the inside of her leg as she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut tight as her pleasure exploded in a violet haze behind her eyelids. He pounded against her ass, once, twice, three more times, and she felt him expel himself within her, the heat spreading deliciously through her core.

Moments later they were pooled in a heap on the ground, limbs entwined, dripping with their own sweat and juices. Breathing heavily, they were unable to move. Natasha had not felt such intensity in years, and she knew without asking that her Soldat had not felt such pleasure in many times longer than that. From across the room she heard her phone buzz. She untangled her legs from the Soldat's and crawled, still completely naked, toward the discarded pants. She reached up and opened the phone.

A simple text message filled the screen, freezing her blood instantly. She felt a warm hand on her ankle, and had flipped away and cocked the gun in the direction of the soldier in a split second. "Get out," she ordered. He lifted his head to look at her, knowing full well the reason for her sudden turn of face. He stood, slowly, his gaze locked on hers. She could not be sure if he was willing her to shoot or to not shoot him with those eyes. There was a pain and a purpose behind the blue, but she could not bring herself to pull the trigger despite what she knew to be true.

Nick Fury had been shot by the Winter Soldier not more than thirty minutes ago.

It all clicked into her mind now, his painted face, full uniform, and the look in his eyes when she had come into the apartment tonight. It was guilt. Her desire for him melted away in that moment. She was still naked, her form ready to defend against or attack him, gun at the ready with the safety clicked off and a bullet in the chamber. Yet she could not force herself to move as he slipped his pants and vest back on. As he moved to walk past her, he paused only briefly and held out one hand as though to touch her, but froze when he saw her body tense. She refused to face him, or look at him. She didn't need to see him to know when to strike out, but he did not touch her and soon left, the sudden coolness of the air in his wake allowing her to release her breath as she knew that he was gone.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she could only reach for her discarded clothes, holding back the hitch in her breathing. Fury was dying. If Fury died who was left to vouch for her? First Stark, and now Fury? The Winter Soldier was destroying her life and she was letting it happen. History be damned; she was finally ready to accept that the Winter Soldier was some of the red in her ledger - she had again opened her body to him in more intimate ways than she had ever done with another soul, all while Fury had been bleeding out in a hospital bed.

Her Soldat was now her target. Fuck him to all hell. Before anything else, she had to get to Nick.

When she had seen him on the causeway later, she knew that she had to draw him away from Rogers. She was the only one who could take him out. Rogers was strong enough to face him, but she was deeply embedded into his psyche and she knew that she could take him down if she got him alone. She had barrelled off the edge of the causeway and seen his shadow looming above. She did not aim to kill, only to get his attention. Seeing him reemerge over the barrier, brows furrowed in anger but eyes clear and visible after her bullet had cracked the fiberglass of his eyegear, she knew she had him. She had glanced over her shoulder as she ran, smirking when she saw his eyes following her.

She ignored the heat building in her core from the fear and excitement of facing him down for the last time as she ran, shouting for the bystanders to make a path even as she knew he was stalking her with his cold eyes and predatory body. _It's time to play_.

 **~xXx~**

A/N: Reviews & Favorites are always appreciated! Thanks for reading my lovelies.


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